What does grief look like four years later? I’m not sure if people outside of the “loss club” think about this question or not, but I felt it was the perfect topic for today. I bet some people believe that grief gets lighter as time goes on. After all, time heals all wounds right?
I really do wish that were the case. For me, grief never gets lighter…I just learn how to carry it better. It still weighs the same as it did four years ago. Grief today looks lonely. In the days and months (even the first year or two) after Harper died we had an incredible amount of support. I will be forever grateful for every prayer, hug, text, meal, yard mowed, babysitting offered, toilet scrubbed and load of laundry done. Everyone we love, and even some strangers, did such a phenomenal job of covering us in love when we needed it most. But, as the years have crept by, the support has dwindled.
I don’t really expect people to feed me and bring me flowers constantly just because my kid died, so I hope this isn’t misunderstood. The loneliness comes when people stop mentioning her name. When people don’t acknowledge my pain or see that my heart crumbles a little more each day I have to spend without her. It can feel so isolating. I’ve learned that many times the one who seems to carry their grief the best is the one hurting the most.
Thanks to Jesus, my husband and my three beautiful living children, I have continued to walk through this broken world with as much joy as I can muster. There are so many moments to celebrate. So many people have been touched by Harper’s story. The Lord has taught me so much through her life, but I still miss her with every fiber of my being.
My four year old grief looks like not letting a day go by without thinking about her. My grief feels like a stab in the heart every time I hear another mother call “Harper!” to their living child. My grief sounds like the awkward pause in conversations when I explain to someone that I have four children even though they can only see three. My grief smells like her baby blanket that I still sleep with most nights. My grief tastes like what seems like an endless number of tears I have cried over losing her.
And though I know that I have an army of people who care about me, what sometimes hurts more than the pain of losing her is the idea that not many people see this four-year-old grief. So I guess I’m writing to expose the emotions I have gotten so good at holding back. I’ve trained the waves of grief to hit me less often, but when they do come they hit incredibly hard. And though my grief is all of the things I have listed above, I am so thankful to be able to also say that it is not a hopeless grief. Someone told me the other day that they can’t wait to be introduced to Harper in heaven one day and I so appreciated their beautiful perspective. Each day without her is also one day closer to her.
So, sweet girl, on your 4th birthday with our Savior I hope you know how much your mama loves you. He changed my life forever when He allowed me to carry you for those 9 months… and I absolutely can not wait to meet you. Happy birthday, Harper Jane.